(right now, what I really wish I could say is YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK.  “YOU PEOPLE” being anyone involved in the real estate shithole and also the “people” who may or may not foreclose on our perfect house)

Ok…I think I’m back on track with this whole “I’ll finish the draft” thing, now.  Last week was crazy. 

I mean, hello cardboard overload.  Our former house looked like a box factory exploded from Friday morning to Sunday at around 2:30am. Yes. AM. Two thirty AM.

I fell asleep on the floor in a sleeping bag while Tim got up and finished vacuuming the house before that, too, was loaded onto the moving truck.

(why didn’t the sound of a vacuum cleaner wake me?  well, it kind of did…but I had vacuumed until like…midnight…so in my half conscious thought process I was all, “well, I already vacuumed a shit ton…soooo…no guilt. right?…right. zzzzzzzzzzz”)

But, while the sun was still shining and I was still coherent, I decided to document this whole process…and had to include 5 feet, 9 inch Tim in this picture, just so you had a realistic frame of reference.  We pretty much had to yell “CORNER!” every time we moved from one room to another.

On Wednesday and Thursday, before the movers (Hi, Denzel and Ryan. You two…are crazy…) got to the house, Tim and I were working our asses off, trying to get the important stuff packed on our own (read: electronic things).  Oh…we also recruited some help – also known as Bear (And I just learned that Bear reads my blog.  Hi, Bear!  You made the FRONT PAGE!  Quick!  Get Betty!) for the bigger things that I told Tim, “NO WAY IN HELL ARE YOU DOING THAT ALONE“…like taking down basketball goals.

And, for those of you who have been around for awhile, I know I complained bitterly…incessantly…about where we lived.  I mean, the neighborhood really did hate us.  But….I did love our house (There. I said it. OUR HOUSE.  Not “the house Tim bought and I moved into.”  Happy, O Wonderful Husband-o-Mine??)

We took one last picture…just, you know, to rub salt into the selling-our-house-for-peanuts wound.

I also left the “new” homeowners a letter (like I said I would…just…in less words and I kept the don’t piss away the awesomeness of the house to a minimum.  I think I said something super sappy like, “show it the love and care it deserves.”) in a CHRISTMAS CARD  HOLIDAY CARD (never can be sure…so HAPPY SEASONS GREETINGS…or whatever it said).

We also gave them all the manuals to everything in the house, keys, garage door opener, extra filters for the refrigerator (and those things are asspensive!), hot chocolate mix and cookie mix…because they have kids and WE’RE JUST SO DAMN THOUGHTFUL.

Sometimes…I’m so nice…even when I’m bitter…that I surprise myself.

So, enough with the house.  Here is my now-completed draft of “stuff i wish i could say”

To a total stranger: You’ve got a bat in the cave, dude. Time to pry the crusty little buddy free.

To someone who is entirely too close to me in the grocery checkout line, line at the bank, any LINE: Back it up, bitch. This is MAH SPACE! As in: You’re in it and it’s giving me unfriendly germs.

To asstards who get behind the wheel of a motorized vehicle: Keep it up and YOU’RE GOING TO DIE. Why be such an asshat? We’ll all GET. THERE. ………………..eventually.  I think you might actually *get there* a little sooner than the rest of us.  And “There” being not of this world…if you keep up that shitastic maneuvering.

To the people cruising through the neighborhood listening to their “music” so loud in their *ride* that I can hear it from INSIDE MY HOUSE: (whispering) Hi. You’ll be super deaf in like….15 minutes. Wait…what? You can’t hear me?….so this might actually mean when the tornado siren goes off, YOU…AND YOUR RIMS SPINNIN’ COUNTERCLOCKWISE *RIDE* ARE SO GOING TO MISS IT. Sad state of affairs, dude. Sad, sad state. Tornadoes are like, unforgivably menacing.

To telemarketers who call EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT: We’re totally broke. This isn’t even *my* phone. It’s my second cousin’s sisters phone and it’s on one of those monthly plan things? So this is why I don’t answer. I’m wasting minutes. Her minutes. And she’s scary. She just said you owe us…well, HER, $15.00 and a bag of cheesy poofs. Cash only.  And the really orange kind.

To the hoochie mama in the grocery store with the low rider jeans and super high rise thongs: ROCK ON, chica with you and your supa fly self. It’s just…see, thing is…I don’t *exactly* want to witness “all” of your *flossiness* while I’m trying to purchase things like cottage cheese. Kinda ruins my shopping experience.

To the person who chains their dog to a tree ALL DAMN DAY: The fuck? How would YOU like to be chained to a tree, stuck out in the elements with your water bowl totally out of reach and squirrels throwing nuts on your head? Exactly. Dogs aren’t “just dogs.” Also? One word: Karma.  And she’s a big, scary bitch who never got her cheesy poofs.

To the person returning their ENTIRE mass clothing purchase within 24 hours of the initial “spree” and holds up one person (me) who only has a manageable amount of items that can be carried by hand, unlike your two shopping carts, fifteen bags and a receipt that’s longer than my list of pet peeves: HELLO? Buyers remorse? Or did you not *actually* realize your credit card is indirectly linked to your bank account? Also? Layaway? NOT AN OPTION.  GO-AWAY sounds better to me.

To people smacking gum, food, or making odd noises with their mouth: CEASE the oral disgustingness.  Or I may have to slap you.  Actually, forget the “may.”  There is no “may.”  I will.

To anyone who ever said I would amount to nothing: Don’t come knocking on my door when you’re on the down and out. And if I ever DO *make it* ??  I promise, you’ll be the first to know. ASS. HOLE.

***Footnote***

I’m really not as bitter as all that makes me sound.  The irony of this whole post?  I’m actually in this happy little bubble of LIFE IS AWESOME LET ME HUG EVERY SINGLE PERSON THAT GETS WITHIN FIVE FEET BECAUSE I’M JUST BURSTING WITH SPARKLES!

Ok…maybe not THAT extreme…but I’m in a really happy place right now.

I think it’s Colorado.